


my body is a cage

by ursulamerkle



Category: IT (2017), IT - Stephen King, To the Bone (2017)
Genre: Alternate Universe - No Pennywise (IT), Anorexia, Bulimia, Eating Disorders, F/M, Group Homes, Hospitalization, M/M, No Proofreading We Die Like Men, OCD, Rehabilitation, Slow Burn, Smoking, Sonia Kaspbrak's A+ Parenting, Suicidal Thoughts, Suicide Attempt, binge eating, diverges from film plot a lot probably, starring eddie as ellen and richie as luke, will add tags as necessary - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-05-20
Updated: 2018-11-19
Packaged: 2019-05-09 10:55:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 18,465
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14714708
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ursulamerkle/pseuds/ursulamerkle
Summary: Eddie had been admitted to the Juniper Hill Treatment Facility four months ago, and all he had to show for it was two lousy pounds. The doctors and nurses had tried everything—and yet every time he stepped on the scale, more and more of him was missing.to the bone AU. massive tw for eating disorders.





	1. we all have a hunger

**Author's Note:**

> hi everyone! as an anorexia warrior who has been to both inpatient and outpatient treatment, i am taking the utmost care to be as sensitive when writing this as possible. the smallest suggestion of eating disorders used to send me into a tailspin, and if any of you are like me i would advise against you reading this. i will keep updating any triggers that may be written in chapter-by-chapter, and i hope that i can bring some love to any eating disorder sufferers and survivors out there looking for solidarity in their favorite fictional characters. happy reading ! xxx ursula

102.

Eddie felt like sinking into the floor.

The nurse who weighed him looked like she’d just received a handwritten invitation to his funeral. Eddie just stared at the scale— _102—_ until his eyes started to cross and his vision went blurry. He was up two pounds since he’d been admitted. _Still underweight for 5’2”._

The nurse said something to him and Eddie had to work to tear his attention away from the scale. _102._ He blinked.

“Sorry?”

“I said, looks like you’re good to go, Mr. Kaspbrak.” Eddie could tell by the way she didn’t look up from her clipboard that she didn’t mean it. He wondered morbidly how many times before him she had said those exact words and how many times before him she hadn’t meant them. When she finally met his eyes, Eddie was struck by how tired she looked.

He understood.

Eddie had been admitted to the Juniper Hill Treatment Facility four months ago, and all he had to show for it was two lousy pounds. The doctors and nurses had tried everything—CBT, counseling, art and movement therapy, psychodrama—nothing. He felt almost bad for the staff; he saw how hard they were trying and yet every time he stepped on the scale, more and more of him was missing.

But now, finally, he was leaving (two whole pounds lighter!), going back home to Derry and a sense of normalcy and no more doctors breathing down his neck.

Just his mother.

A heavy duffel bag slung over his shoulder, Eddie pulled his suitcase behind him and tried his best to make it look effortless, but with the duffel bag weighing him down, he only got about ten feet down the hallway before he was out of breath and red in the face. He paused, rolled the sleeves of his sweater up his arms and started to pull with both hands, trying (and failing) to ignore the passing glances and double-takes from hospital staff and guests alike. He could feel those extra two pounds hanging on him like cinder blocks.

“Need a hand?”

Eddie looked up, startled, and grinned. Beverly Marsh, his new best friend and Juniper Hill’s resident badass, stood in front of him, her hands on her hips and a lopsided smirk on her freckled face. Her red hair was twisted up in a bun on top of her head and Eddie was secretly jealous of the way it tugged at her cheekbones and made her look like a supermodel who had just woken up from a power nap.

“Nope,” Eddie replied, trying to slow his breathing. “I got it.” He patted his suitcase halfheartedly.

Beverly fixed him with a skeptical look. “That suitcase is bigger than you are, Eddie. Let me help.”

He started to huff out an excuse but Beverly was already tugging on the suitcase with him, walking beside him as they rolled it down the hallway together. His heart swelled in his chest; he was going to miss her.

“Remember to call, okay?” she said, as if reading his mind. “If you don’t, I’ll go bonkers and end up in the psych ward and it’ll be all your fault.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Eddie laughed, though it sounded more like a wheeze. He reached for his inhaler without thinking. Beverly came to a sudden stop, standing the suitcase up behind them.

“I’m serious,” she added, more quietly this time, with a nostalgic smile on her face. It didn’t quite reach her eyes. “I’m gonna miss you. A lot.”

Eddie shouldn’t have been surprised when she threw her arms around him and pulled him in for a hug, but he was. She smelled like the hospital but there was something underneath it that still lingered on her clothes. Cigarette smoke and citrus-scented laundry detergent.

Home.

“Only seven more weeks,” she murmured into Eddie’s shoulder, holding him tighter.

“You can do this, Bev.” Eddie’s voice broke, and he was thankful that the sound was muffled in the fabric of her sweater (seventeen years old and his voice still hadn’t dropped. It only embarrassed him every waking moment of his life). He peered up at her. “Hey.”

“What?”

“If you get early release, I’ll buy you a whole carton of Camels to celebrate.”

Bev laughed at that, pulling him back in for a minute. When she let go, Eddie saw that there were tears caught in her lower eyelashes.

“Promise?” She asked wetly.

Eddie nodded. “Promise.”

Eddie squeezed her hand and gave her one last nervous smile before taking his suitcase and rolling it down the rest of the way down the hallway to the lobby.

Eddie’s reunion with his mother had gone about as well as could be expected.

She had sent an Uber to pick him up. Eddie hoisted his bags into the backseat beside him (not without some difficulty) and rode with the window rolled all the way down, the soft breeze and the sunlight warm on his face. He was grateful that the driver didn’t ask him any questions; he would’ve rather opened the door and jumped out of the car on the highway than talk about Juniper Hill for one more second.

When the driver turned into Eddie’s neighborhood, he rolled up the window and tucked himself into the corner of the backseat. He felt surprised, and then uneasy, and then ashamed upon realizing he wasn’t as happy to be home as he thought he would be. _Welcome home, Eddie,_ he thought glumly, _all that time you spent counting down the days, and for what?_

The Uber pulled up to his house and Eddie lugged his bags out of the car (all by himself!), watching it roll down his street until it disappeared.

His suitcase propped up beside him and his duffel bag hanging off of his shoulder, Eddie stood in the middle of the empty road and stared at his house. He’d lived here his whole life, and yet he felt as though he was seeing it for the first time; the dent in the side of the mailbox, the frisbee stuck on top of the roof, the tree in front of his bedroom window.

Eddie didn’t remember walking up his driveway and climbing the steps to the front door, but suddenly it was swinging open and there was his mother.

“Eddie-bear!”

In the four months that Eddie had been gone, she had to have put on at least fifty more pounds. Suddenly the Uber made a lot more sense; he was surprised to see that she could even pick herself up off the couch. It seemed where Eddie kept losing weight, Sonia kept packing on more. If she hugged him, she’d swallow him whole.

But she didn’t.

“Oh, I missed you so much.” Her voice sounded thin and tired, like she hadn’t used it in too long. Eddie felt oddly vulnerable as she scrutinized his frail body with her wet, beady eyes.

“I missed you too, mommy.” Eddie felt like he was floating outside of himself, watching a scene in a bad movie. Whoever was playing his part was a shit actor.

“Well, don’t just stand there, come inside.” She ushered him inside and were it not for Eddie’s remarkable smallness, he wouldn’t have been able to squeeze past her and into the house. “It’s allergy season, you know…”

Eddie tuned her out as soon as he stepped inside. It smelled so suffocatingly familiar inside— _Mrs. Meyer’s cleaning supplies and peppermint soap and hunger pains._ He regarded the staircase with disdain and wondered how the hell he was going to get his suitcase up those steps.

“I’m kinda tired,” Eddie said abruptly, cutting his mother off. He turned to her. “I think I’m gonna take a nap.”

He could feel his mother watching him as he looked at the suitcase by his side. _A challenge_.

So he left it at the bottom of the stairs and climbed up two at a time.

The rest of the week passed by without incident. Eddie avoided his mother as best as he could, but didn’t miss the way she watched him when she thought he wasn’t looking. Her eyes burned holes in the side of his head during mealtime, watching him like a hawk as he methodically cut his food and awkwardly pushed it around his plate. He kept himself holed up in his room, away from his mother’s prying eyes and away from the snack foods practically spilling out of the kitchen cabinets.

On the one-week anniversary of his departure from Juniper Hill, Sonia broke the news to him.

That this—she had made an ugly flapping gesture when she said the word—was “too much for her,” that she was not well-equipped enough to see Eddie in “such a state.” That she had called the hospital early that day and had been in contact with a specialist at a group home.

“A _group home_?” Eddie demanded, his voice more hurt than hostile. “Mom—”

“There’s usually quite a wait to be admitted,” she barreled on, not even making eye contact with him, “he’s the best specialist in Maine, but he made a special exception for you, Eddie!”

“Well that’s nice of him but it doesn’t mean I’m going.” He crossed his arms.

“It’s an all-boys facility in Portland, they have some of the best success rates in the Northeast,” she continued. _Excuses, excuses._ “It’ll be good for us both, Eddie-bear—”

“ _Good for us both,_ ” he repeated, smiling humorlessly.  “Am I that much of a burden to you?”

“Yes! You are!” Sonia cried, voice shrill. Eddie’s heart went still. “You are wasting away in front of my eyes and I can’t take it anymore!”

The floor was spinning underneath him.

“If you don’t want to get better, _fine._ But you’re not doing it here.” She turned away from him, her meaty hands clutching the countertop. “You’re leaving tomorrow.”

On the one-week anniversary of his departure from Juniper Hill, Eddie Kaspbrak yelled at his mother for the first time in his life.

She had cried; awful, noisy tears, but Eddie didn’t relent. He shouted at the top of his lungs, his hands shaking in fists at his sides, his mother weeping loud crocodile tears all the while.

When he finally got too angry to look at her anymore, Eddie stormed upstairs and slammed his door with all the might his tiny frame could muster. His voice felt raw, his breathing ragged and short. He fumbled for his inhaler in the pocket of his sweatpants, stuffing it into his mouth and pressing the trigger twice, inhaling the medicine like his life depended on it (which it kind of did). His breathing began to slow and he eased himself down onto his bed, gripping the duvet beneath him with white knuckles.

_How could she do this?_

Eddie felt tears stinging his eyes and before he knew it, fat tears were rolling down his cheeks, his lower lip wobbling pathetically and his shoulders shaking with sobs.

_You’re a burden. If all you want to do is die then why not fucking do it already? You’re gonna end up just like her anyway, do you really want that?_

Eddie cried for the better half of an hour, until his sweater sleeves were soaked through and his face was puffy and red and streaked with tears. Still sniffling and hiccuping, Eddie wiped his tears away and reached for the box of tissues on his nightstand.

As he retrieved them, his eye caught on a pamphlet from Juniper Hill he had saved, one he had picked up after his first psychiatric assessment when he still had no idea what inpatient was like. He picked it up and leafed through it, his eyes settling on a page with the words _Keeping in Touch With Loved Ones: A Guide to Communication at Juniper Hill._

Beverly.

Eddie scrambled for his cell phone and once he had it in hand, scanned the page desperately for Juniper Hill’s phone number. He’d memorized the phone schedule and the visitor hours while he was there, in case his mother ever visited or called. In the four months he’d been there, she had called twice.

Eddie dialed the number with shaking hands, which he chalked up to nerves, and not the empty feeling in his stomach. As it rung, he chewed on his sweater sleeve anxiously.

“Juniper Hill Treatment Facility, my name is Rebecca, how may I help you?”

“I have a call for Beverly Marsh,” Eddie told her. _Rebecca_. She sounded nice. “Uh, room 226.”

Rebecca told him to hold please while she transferred his call. It rung for a moment before Beverly picked up and yelled, “Eddie!” into the phone.

“How did you know it was me?” he asked, smiling.

“Call it fate,” she said warmly, and Eddie’s heart soared. “This is actually perfect timing. Guess what?”

“What?”

“I’m up my last five pounds and I get out in a week! Early release, bitches!” Beverly’s laugh crinkled like bright red tissue paper over the line.

“What!” Eddie’s face was split with a grin. “Oh my god, Bev, that’s amazing!”

“Guess you owe me that carton of Camels after all, Kaspbrak.”

“I guess I do.” Eddie was so happy for her, he could barely hear the jealous voice in the back of his mind whispering nasty things.

“Anyway, what’s up, how’s the real world?” Beverly gushed. “I can’t wait to see you again!”

“The real world was great while it lasted,” he said, suddenly feeling rather deflated, “um. My mom’s sending me to a group home tomorrow.”

“Eddie,” Beverly breathed, and the line was silent for a moment. “I am so, so sorry. What happened? Are you okay?”

“I’m fine—” it wasn’t a total lie “—she just. Doesn’t want me anymore.”

Beverly was quiet.

Eddie swallowed back tears. “She doesn’t want me around.”

 “Oh,” Bev sighed into the phone, and Eddie shut his eyes. “I wish I was with you right now. Imagine that I’m giving you the biggest hug.”

“I wish you were here, too.” Eddie stared at his lap, at the gap between his thighs. “I wish you could meet my mom.”

“Why?”

“She’s so fat, Bev.”

“Eddie!”

They both broke out in a fit of uncontrollable giggles, both unable to stop because the other’s laugh was so infectious. After a good few minutes, they finally calmed down enough to carry a serious conversation.

“What’s the name of the place?” Bev asked. “Lemme find a pen, I can write it down, ask around about it? Report back to you?”

“Uh, I dunno what it’s called. It’s some stupid all-boys facility. In Portland, I think.” He frowned.

Beverly gasped. “Portland Rehabilitation Center and Group Home for Boys? Oh my God, Eddie, that place is fucking amazing. Apparently the doctor there is like, a genius or something. One of the nurses was talking about it a couple days ago in group.”

Eddie paused. “Really?”

“Yeah, really.” He could almost hear Bev’s smile over the phone. “Give it a chance, for me?”

He sighed. “Only for you.”

“Besides,” she continued, a suggestive lilt in her voice, “maybe you’ll meet someone while you’re the-ere…”

“Ugh. Bev, ew,” Eddie laughed tiredly. “Yeah right.”

“C’mon! You’re a catch, Eddie.” He heard a distant voice on the other end. Beverly’s voice softened. “I gotta run.”

“Oh. Okay.”

“Hey! Let me give you my cell number, that way when you get there you can still call me once I’m outta here.” Her voice practically sparkled. “And who knows, maybe I’ll come visit?”

Eddie smiled. “I’d like that.”

He found a pen and a piece of paper, hurriedly scribbling down the number Beverly rattled off to him. She said goodbye and blew him a loud kiss through the phone, then hung up. Eddie suddenly felt very, very alone.

He glanced at the slip of paper still in his hand. He folded it into a neat little square and dug his duffel bag out of his closet, then slipped it into an inside pocket, where it would be safe.

It was the first thing he packed.


	2. (and i didn't have to call it) loneliness

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hi all! thank you for the wonderful comments you've been leaving, you're all angels. i'm so grateful!!  
> we finally get to meet the losers in chapter 2 (alternatively titled: the chapter where i start gratuitously pulling dialogue from the film with reckless abandon). i'm trying to find ways to work ben, mike, bev, bill, and stan into the story as much as i can because i love their characters and i really want to honor them. again, thank you endlessly for reading and i am so excited to keep sharing this story with you all ! much love, ursula
> 
> (tw for brief mentions of self-harm and purging)

Eddie didn’t speak to his mother the next day.

His morning went like this: he woke up early, sunlight only just beginning to creep through his blinds. He went to the bathroom and didn’t stare at the spot on the floor where the scale used to be, did his morning workout, then went downstairs for coffee. Sonia wasn’t awake, she never was this early in the morning, but he still tiptoed down the staircase and peered around the corner of the kitchen doorway to make sure.

Upon entering the empty kitchen, Eddie felt like he was the only person on earth. He opened the thin curtains above the kitchen sink, letting the cold morning light filter in as he went about pouring himself a cup of coffee. He hopped up on the kitchen island and stared out the small window as he drank.

Two years ago, Eddie wouldn’t have dreamed of taking his coffee black. But then again, there were lots of things Eddie wouldn’t have dreamed of doing two years ago. Like yell at his mother, for example.

He set his mug down as he climbed off the island, his toes curling on the cold floor. And then

_oh shit_

his legs buckled underneath him and his vision went black and cloudy as he stumbled into the island, his knees slamming into the cabinets. _Too fast toofasttoofast,_ he thought, pressing his cheek into the cold granite to ground himself. He squeezed his eyes shut and shuddered, his heartbeat a jackhammer in his chest.

When he opened his eyes, his coffee cup was in front of his face. Eddie briefly imagined a world where he hadn’t left it on the countertop as he collapsed. It shattered in slow-motion in his head and he saw himself falling face-first into the shards. He blinked.

His mother was standing in the doorway.

Eddie didn’t scramble to attention the way he might have before yesterday. He didn’t dignify his mother with a _good morning_ or even so much as a tight-lipped smile. The tension in the air was chokingly thick. Sonia shifted back and forth on her feet uncomfortably as she watched her son like he was some sort of dangerous criminal.

A ticking time bomb.

Eddie kept his eyes locked on hers, reached out a hand, and tipped the coffee cup over the edge of the counter.

It splintered into pieces at his feet. The sound was muffled in his ears, his head still swimming from his fainting spell. His mother gasped and Eddie clocked the way she moved towards the mess, moved towards _him_ , but stopped herself.

He stepped over the remnants of the mug and traipsed back up to his bedroom.

He stayed there until the car was scheduled to come pick him up, leaving only to pee and get water. The suitcase and duffel bag stacked in the corner were a heavy reminder that he was leaving soon, but he wasn’t risking going downstairs again. As he waited for the car, he sat in the windowsill and stared out at his front yard forlornly, like he was in a shitty country music video about not getting asked to the prom.

_Ugh. Gross._

He continued to do it.

The car rolled up at two o’clock on the dot. Eddie somehow managed to haul his belongings down the stairs and onto the front lawn, where the driver offered to pack it all into the car with an equal mix of worry and amusement on his face. Eddie turned red and let him.

“Eddie?”

He jumped in surprise and turned to face his mother, who stood behind him on the doorstep, wringing her hands. There was a sheen of sweat on her forehead, and Eddie tried not to squirm.

“What.”

As he stared at his mother, he felt a strange pull inside of him, like his stomach had grown legs and was trying to make a break for the car. _I have to go—_

Then Sonia was opening her arms and trundling towards him and Eddie panicked and reached for his inhaler and stumbled backwards and said, “Don’t touch me.”

He could almost hear the bridge crashing down around him.

Eddie turned and headed for the car, leaving Sonia standing on the lawn, arms outstretched in a pose ironically resemblant of the crucifixion. As the car peeled away, Eddie stared up at the sky.

“Awful harsh to leave your mother without so much ’s a hug,” the driver said.

Eddie looked up at his reflection in the rearview mirror. He looked at his own paper-white skin and the dark circles underneath his eyes and then to the wrinkled eyes of the driver. “She’s not my mother,” Eddie told him.

“Ah,” was all the driver said. He was mostly silent until they reached the highway, where the traffic was so congested it sent the driver into an explosively angry rant, generously peppered with colorful language. _Great!_ Eddie thought, _just what I needed. A two-hour car ride to another nuthouse with a total stranger who’s got road rage and anger issues._

His fingers tapped anxiously on the aspirator in his pocket the whole way there. The car felt smaller and smaller the longer he was in it, the jittery feeling in his heart settling into his lungs and his throat the closer they got.

When they passed the sign welcoming them to Portland, Eddie took a pull on his inhaler.

He slid down in his seat and drew his knees up to his chest as they cut through downtown Portland. All he could see out the window were the tops of the brick buildings and the unlit lamp posts. He puffed on his inhaler twice more as they drove for good measure, his hands shaking. He balled them up in the sleeves of his sweater and tried to ignore them. It didn’t work.

The car turned onto a street off of the main road, and Eddie was acutely aware of his pounding heartbeat. He didn’t have to look at the map on the driver’s phone to know they were there.

“Here we are.” The car rolled to a stop. “Need me to get your bags outta the trunk, kid? Don’t answer that. I’m gonna do it anyway. You look tired.”

Eddie smiled, though it felt more like a wince. “Thanks.”

And with that, Eddie gathered what little courage he had left and stepped out of the car.

It was a house. A real house. In the middle of a real neighborhood. It looked like one of the houses in the richer neighborhoods in Derry. It was painted dark, with a slanted rooftop and a beautifully kept front lawn. There were windows all over looking out on the street, a stone walkway leading to the door, and a front porch with rocking chairs and a bench swing.

“Um, are you sure this is it?” Eddie asked.

The driver shrugged. “This is the address.”

He had expected something much more hospital-y. Or some brick building in the middle of nowhere that used to be a baptist church. Not a McMansion.

Then the front door opened and three boys came scrambling out of the house.

“Ow, Mike! You stepped on my toe.”

“Sorry, Ben. Bill, scoot over, I can’t see.”

“Sorry.”

Eddie watched them trip over one another as the driver got back in the car. He picked up his duffel bag and his pillow off the curb (gross, now he’d have to wash it) and one of the boys from the porch came jogging up to him. He had soft red hair and a kind smile.

“Huh-hi.” He reached for Eddie’s suitcase. Eddie’s cheeks turned pink.

“Oh, I’m okay—”

“P-please, let m-m-me,” the boy stammered. “So I can get my p-points.”

“Oh. Okay.” Eddie watched him push down the handle of his suitcase and pick it up with deft hands. He started awkwardly following after the boy, silently straining under the weight of his bag.

“W-wh-wh-what’s your name?” he asked, looking back at him.

“Eddie.”

“Bill,” he replied. “W-we’re all so excited t-t-to meet you, in c-case you couldn’t tell from the welcoming c-c-committee.” Bill smiled at him. Something about the confidence with which he spoke, despite his stutter, made Eddie feel safer than he had in a long time.

They climbed up the steps to the porch and Bill introduced the other two boys. “That’s B-Ben, and this is Mike. Guys, this is Eh-Eh-Eddie.”

Ben waved at him shyly and Mike smiled. Ben was short (still taller than Eddie) and rather round, and he was wearing a huge sweatshirt that hid his large frame. Eddie could tell only because that was exactly what he was doing himself. Mike was taller, with dark skin, high cheekbones, and the longest eyelashes Eddie had ever seen.

“Nice to meet you, Eddie,” Ben said.

“Let us know if you need any help settling in,” Mike added, stuffing his hands in his pockets.

“Thanks,” Eddie replied, smiling sheepishly.

Bill turned to him. “Let’s head ih-inside. See you g-guys at g-g-group.”

He stepped inside and Eddie followed suit. The inside of the house was spacious and airy; hardwood floors, lots of windows and natural light. Bill set Eddie’s suitcase down in front of the staircase.

“Here it is,” he said. “Home sweet huh-home.”

“It’s really nice,” Eddie said, looking around.

“W-wait till you see the lib-buh-brary,” Bill said conspiratorially. “I’ll g-go get Paula to sh-shuh-show you to your room.”

Bill left Eddie at the foot of the stairs, awkwardly scuffing his feet on the floor and gawking around like he’d never been inside a house before.

He was startled by the sound of someone whistling loudly and bounding down the stairs.

The person in question was a tall, lanky boy with wild black curls and a pair of big glasses on his face. His clothes were about as loud as his whistling; he was wearing a pair of bright yellow sneakers and a dark teal denim jacket over a floral-printed button-down. He hopped off of the third stair from the bottom and looked surprised to see Eddie standing there.

“‘Ello there, love,” he said, donning a horrific British accent. He stared down ( _down, down, down...God, he was tall_ ) at Eddie.

“Hi,” Eddie squeaked, his voice betraying him.

The boy leaned a hand on the wall, practically towering over him. “You must be the new kid.”

“Um, yeah. That’s me.”

“I’m Richie,” he said. He stuck out his hand and Eddie took it, marveling at how big his hand was compared to his own.  “And you are…?”

“Eddie,” he told him, standing as tall as he could.

“A pleasure to meet you, Eddie,” Richie said dramatically, bending at the waist and pressing a kiss to the back of Eddie’s hand. His body temperature skyrocketed about a million degrees. “Man,” Richie said, dropping his hand, “they told me Dr. K admitted you ‘cause you were special but they didn’t tell me you’d be so cute.”

Eddie wanted to implode.

“You all by yourself?” Richie asked, looking around. “Where’s your parents?”

“My mom couldn’t come,” Eddie lied, too quickly to be believable.

Richie looked at him quizzically. “That sucks. She certainly wasn’t having that problem when I was with her last night.”

Eddie blinked at him. “Did you just…?”

Richie grinned. “Oh, I just.”

The mental image was so ridiculous and disturbing that Eddie couldn’t help but laugh. “God,” he said, rolling his eyes.

“Don’t encourage him,” shouted a muffled voice from seemingly out of nowhere.

“Mind your own business, Stan!” Richie shouted over his shoulder.  “Don’t listen to him,” he continued, leaning in close and lowering his voice, “he’s just grumpy ‘cause he’s getting tubed today.” Eddie winced. He’d always hated getting tubed.

Just then, a woman turned the corner and told Eddie to follow her. Eddie guessed this was the nurse Bill had mentioned, though she wasn’t wearing scrubs or even any weird uniform to indicate that she was a nurse. She was wearing a pretty pink blouse and a pair of jeans. Eddie liked it.

She led him down a hall underneath the staircase to a large bedroom with two beds. One of them was occupied by a gaunt boy with curly hair getting tubed. There were dozens of pictures of birds taped on the walls and tacked up on the bulletin board beside his bed, and there was a pair of binoculars hanging on his bedpost. His half of the room was impeccably neat.

“This is your room,” the nurse—Paula, was that her name?—said, helping Eddie put his stuff on the bed. “That’s Stan.”

Eddie waved a meek hello to Stan, who lifted a hand in response.

“Hi.”

“Hey. I’m Eddie,” he offered. Paula started unzipping his bags. “Um, I like your birds.”

Stan gave Eddie a hint of a smile. “Thank you.”

Eddie couldn’t help but stare at the tube running around his face and up his nose; he remembered what that was like.

“Sorry. It’s gross,” he said, ducking his head back in the book he was holding. A birdwatching book.

“Oh, this girl from the last place I was in had a permanent tube in her stomach,” Eddie said, shrugging. “She refused to chew.”

“Ew.” Stan wrinkled his nose. “I chew.”

“I’m going to have to search these,” Paula said, redirecting Eddie’s attention. “Any knives or X-Actos I should know about? Are you a cutter?”

“No.”

He watched Paula dig through his clothes, thankful she was wearing gloves. She pulled out a bottle of pills and held it up.

“I’m going to have to take these.”

Eddie panicked. “It’s just my multivitamin,” he said quickly.

“It’s a vitamin _bottle,_ ” she said. “Could be diet pills, speed, laxatives…and we don’t have time to test for everything.”

Eddie twitched nervously. “Okay.”

“Don’t worry, we’ll give you a vitamin,” she said kindly. Eddie nodded. “And can I have your phone, please?”

Eddie fished it out of his pocket and handed it over. “Do you have any other electronic devices?”

Eddie shook his head. “Um, is there a house phone we can use to make calls?”

Paula nodded. “It’s downstairs in the living room. Feel free to use it whenever you want. Now, Dr. Keene usually comes in after dinner and in the morning, so you’ll be able to meet him tonight before your assessment tomorrow.”

Paula finished up her search, asked Eddie about his asthma medication, and showed him back downstairs.

“Stan usually gives the tour,” Paula started as they walked down the stairs, “but obviously he’s not going anywhere. So, Richie’s your guy.”

Eddie looked to his right, into the living room, and saw Richie draped across the couch, his bright yellow sneakers propped up on a pillow. He winked at Eddie, who crossed his arms and flushed.

“Great,” he murmured, his stomach twisting uncomfortably. He wasn’t nervous. Just hungry.

“Richie, this is Eddie,” Paula said.

“We’ve met,” Richie said, swinging his long legs over the side of the couch and standing up. “Let’s go!”

Richie indicated for Eddie to come into the living room.

“This, as you can see,” Richie said with a grandiose gesture, “is a living room.” Eddie laughed under his breath. That seemed to spur Richie on. “We meet here twice a day for Bitch and Bawl.”

“What?” Eddie asked.

“It’s what we call our group therapy,” he said.

“Oh.”

“Well, it’s what I call group therapy,” Richie corrected himself, flashing Eddie a smile. “Makes it way more fun.”

“What’s the deal with points? Bill said something about points earlier.”

“Oh, yeah. The points system is basically something Dr. K made up to reward us for actually participating in therapy and making progress and shit. Did you ever have chores when you were a kid?”

Eddie nodded.

“Right. The other half of the points system is basically doing chores and helping out around the house. I suck at that part ‘cause I never had chores, ‘cause that would assume my parents gave a shit.”

Eddie snorted through his nose. Richie grinned.

“Paula and the other nurses and counselors can give points or take ‘em away whenever they want. If you get enough points, you level up.”

“What happens then?” His head was starting to hurt.

“You get extra privileges and shit. Like, you can go out of the house on your own. Which I can do,” Richie bragged. He leaned on the door frame. “I’m trying to figure out where to go on my next outing. I’ve got a checklist of all the best restaurants in Portland, courtesy of Yelp, that I’m making my way through.”

“Sounds real fancy,” Eddie replied sarcastically.

“Oh my stars,” Richie said, pitching his voice high and slipping into a Southern Belle accent. He brought a hand to his chest, “do I detect a hint of sarcasm, Mr...?”

“Kaspbrak," Eddie answered, "and if you’re trying to sound like Scarlett O’Hara, it’s working,” Eddie said, turning away from him.

Richie laughed. It was a nice sound. “Voices are kinda my thing, Eds. You’ll get used to it.”

“Don’t call me that.”

“Got it,” Richie saluted. “ _Eds."_

“Richie—”

“Aaaand coming up on your right is the torture chamber!” Richie interrupted, sounding a lot like a game show host, “also known as the dining room.”

Eddie walked in, afraid to even breathe on the mahogany table. It was beautiful.

“God, Stan is so much better than me at this,” Richie complained. “Tours are so boring I wanna kill myself. It’s a _house._ I dunno how he does it.”

Eddie shrugged and looked back at him. “I think you’re doing fine.”

 _“Fine?”_   Richie repeated incredulously. “Stop it, you’re making me blush.”

Eddie shook his head, breathing out a laugh.

“I’m pretty sure Stan has like, a whole PowerPoint presentation that he does,” Richie continued, pushing up his glasses, “but as I was saying: dining room. Mealtime. Uh, there’s a couple rules for meals. One,” he started counting them off on his spindly fingers, “you have to sit at the table during meals. Don’t have to eat, but you have to at least come to the table. Two, you’re not allowed to leave until dinner’s done. And three, the bathrooms are locked for thirty minutes after. So you gotta hold the pee _and_ the purge. If that’s your thing.”

Eddie grimaced. “Tried it once. Wasn’t for me.”

“Yeah. Bill threw up in the living room plants once. Thought no one would notice.” Richie snickered. “It was hilarious.”

Richie led him from the dining room back down the hall that his room was off of, chatting aimlessly all the while. Eddie wondered if he ever stopped talking.

“This is Bill’s room,” Richie said, knocking on the wall outside as he passed. “We don’t have doors ‘cause they know we’d be jogging around and doing sit-ups all day if no one could see us. It’d be like the Rexie Olympics up in here.”

Eddie laughed. Richie looked down at him, running a hand through his curls. “You are so cute it’s stupid,” he said, shaking his head. Eddie went bright red.

“Yuck,” Stan groaned from down the hall. “Could you go be gross somewhere else, Richie? I’m trying to read.”

Richie called over his shoulder, “you’re just jealous that I’ve got more game than you.”

“I’d sooner go on a date with him and he reads bird encyclopedias for fun,” Eddie muttered, only half-intending for Richie to hear it. He turned around, his mouth hanging open.

“Oh my God!” he whispered, laughing silently, “Eds Gets Off a Good One!”

Richie grabbed his wrist and led him back down the hall. “We’ll leave you alone, Stanny. Have fun with your birds!”

“I will,” he grumbled. Neither Richie nor Eddie could hear him over their giggling.

Eddie wasn’t sure when it happened, but at some point as they were climbing the stairs, he noticed that Richie’s grip on his wrist was gone and he was holding his hand.

His stomach flipped. And it wasn’t because he was hungry.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank you for reading!!! i move up to virginia on monday to start rehearsals for a couple of shows, so i'm not sure how much writing time i'll have coming up the next few weeks, but you can count on me to see this story through to the end. xxx


	3. and then it tries to find a home

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> THANK YOU for all the wonderful comments you all have left!! i keep reading them over and over again because they make my heart SMILE!!!! i’m so happy that this fic has been as well received as it has :”””-)  
> i feel like i slaved over this chapter a lot more than the last two because it’s so much more all over the place. can you tell i love writing dialogue yet??? happy reading !

Group therapy started at six o’clock, and it took Richie until then to finishing showing Eddie around the house.

He showed him around upstairs; Mike’s room, Ben’s room, the bathroom where they were weighed bi-weekly, and the library, but breezed by his own room with only a dismissive wave of his arm. It was at the end of the hall, and Eddie only caught a glimpse of it before Richie was slinging an arm around his shoulder and parading him away, doing an impression of what Eddie guessed was supposed to be the Godfather, but sounded a lot more like Harvey Fierstein.

Richie hopped down the stairs three at a time. “I think this is the first time I’ve ever been on time to group,” Richie called up to Eddie from the bottom of the stairs. He flipped his curls over his shoulder and dropped back into his Southern Belle Voice, saying, “you’ll make an honest woman of me yet, Mr. Kaspbrak!”

Eddie rolled his eyes, fighting a losing battle with the smile tugging at the corners of his mouth, and started down the stairs.

Richie collapsed on the living room couch, his long legs hanging off the arm. “You sure you don’t wanna come join me, Eds?” Richie crowed. “There’s plenty of room.”

Eddie scoffed, curling into the armchair beside the couch. “I said don’t call me that. And you barely fit on that thing by yourself.”

Richie wiggled his eyebrows, his glasses moving up and down on his nose. “We could snuuuuuggle.”

“I didn’t think it was possible for someone to make the word _snuggle_ sound perverse,” Mike said, sneaking up behind Richie and pulling the throw blanket off the back of the couch, grinning cheekily at him before settling down on the loveseat across the circle.

“Want me to say it again?” Richie asked, sitting up. A stray curl dangled in front of his eyes. “Just to make sure it wasn’t a happy accident?”

Mike threw a pillow at Richie.

“I gotta say, Eddie, I’m impressed. Richie’s never been early to group before,” Mike said, fixing him with a playful look, “you’ve barely been here two hours and he's already whipped.”

Eddie blushed and looked out the window. Richie beamed at him.

The rest of the boys filtered into the living room a few minutes before six, Stan showing up last and sitting in the armchair beside Eddie. It looked like instead of nourishing him, the tube had drained all the life out of him.

“Hi, everyone!” came a voice from behind Eddie’s chair.

Everyone in the room seemed to light up. Even Stan sat up a little straighter.

“Ashley!” the room chorused happily. Richie jumped over the back of the couch, going to her and wrapping her in a huge hug.

“Hi, sweetheart,” she laughed, squeezing Richie back.

“We missed you,” Ben said from his seat next to Mike.

“I missed you, too,” she said, smiling. There were crow’s feet around her blue eyes and she wore her hair in a loose braid down her back.

She walked around to the empty armchair at the head of the circle, sitting down and sighing happily. She then took an excruciatingly long and very silent moment to look everyone in the eyes before she began speaking. Eddie seemed to be the only one who was uncomfortable; Ben was blushing contentedly, Richie was grinning from ear to ear, and Stan looked worlds better than he had just a few moments ago.

When she looked at him through her glasses, she stared right into his soul. Eddie wanted to look away, to look anywhere but at her, but his eyes were glued to hers. It was incredibly vulnerable.

When her gaze finally moved on, Eddie realized he’d been holding his breath.

“Hi, guys.” Her voice was gentle, and she wore a soft (and seemingly unshakable) smile. “Let’s start by putting some gratitude into the circle, shall we?”

She turned and pulled a candle out of her bag, setting it on the table in the middle of the circle and lighting it. The room seemed to explode with the smooth scent of raspberries and pine. Coupled with the tunic and sandals she wore, Eddie felt like he had just teleported to an ashram in India.

“I’m grateful for Ashley,” Richie said.

“So grateful for Ashley,” Mike seconded. Everyone in the circle nodded. Ben had a hand over his heart.

 _What the fuck is happening._ He tried to glance at Richie and share a moment of playful confusion with him, but he was oddly invested in what was going on.

“And I’m grateful for each and every one of you,” Ashley replied.

A few seconds passed. Then Stan said, “I’m grateful for...the window behind my bed. It has the best view.”

Pause.

“I’m grateful for my dad,” Mike said, staring at the candle. “He teaches me every day what it means to be a man.”

Pause.

“I’m gratef-fuh-ful for my girlfriend,” Bill said, “for always b-being supportive. Even when I f-f-f-fuck up.”

Another pause.

“I’m grateful for journaling,” Ben said, and everyone in the room shared a light laugh.

They continued on like that for five minutes, but it felt like hours. Eddie sat as small as he could in his chair, trying not to look at anyone.

“And I’m grateful,” Richie began, smirking, “for the newest addition to our fucked-up little family, Eddie Kaspbrak.”

Everyone looked his way. Eddie gave them an awkward, tight smile. “Thanks.”

“A big welcome to you, Eddie,” Ashley said, her eyes shining with kindness. Eddie didn’t know how to let it in. “We’re so glad to have you with us. Now, this is just an end of day check-in, our morning sessions are a little more focused. This is just to talk about our struggles and our victories, and anything else you might feel you want to share.

“Stan, let’s start with you,” Ashley leaned her elbows on her knees. “How’s your heart?”

Stan swallowed, his hands folded neatly in his lap. “Struggle...I got tubed today. And it hurt. I feel all...hot and tingly.” He looked at his hands. “I can’t stop thinking about how many calories are in that drip. They won’t say.”

“Fifteen hundred,” Eddie said.

Stan’s head snapped in his direction.

“I looked it up,” he floundered, feeling like he’d done something wrong, “I’ve been tubed a couple times.”

“We try not to crosstalk, sweetheart,” Ashley told him gently. “We don’t talk about numbers or weight or anything like that.”

Shame burned hot on his cheeks, his throat tightening up. “Sorry.”

“Fifteen hundred,” Stan repeated, staring at the table with dead eyes. Eddie couldn’t look at him.

“How are you feeling now, Stan?” Ashley asked. “Breathe with that.”

Stan took a shuddering breath. “I—I don’t know, just—” he took another breath, his voice breaking “—that it’s hard. Getting better.”

Ashley nodded. “Yeah. It is. Remember what we talked about last time I was here? I know it’s been a while, but think back for a minute.”

Stan looked at her. “Addiction?”

“Bingo,” she said, leaning back and addressing everyone. “When the exercise and the rituals start to kick in, and the cyclical thoughts about weight start to take over, everything else goes away. And starving yourself can make you feel euphoric.” Richie nodded sagely. “It’s not about _thin enough_ , right? There’s no thin enough. It doesn’t exist,” she said, smiling and shaking her head. “What you crave is the numbing of the thing that you don’t want to feel.”

Ben let out a big sigh and reached for his journal, jotting down Ashley’s words.

“And that’s what we try to do here: we try to give ourselves the space to feel those things, to be vulnerable with one another, to let ourselves go and just be present. Yeah?”

Stan nodded. “Kind of. I’m trying.”

Ashley smiled, her crow’s feet dimpling in her skin. “And I’m so proud of you.” She and Stan took a deep breath together before she turned to Richie. “Talk to me, brother.”

Richie sat up and spread out on the couch, monopolizing all the space he could get. “My victory was leading a fucking awesome house tour—” he glanced at Eddie “—and earning myself another point, which means I get to go to Katherine’s this week. It’s some fancy all-day brunch place downtown. I’m gonna dress up real nice and take myself out on a date.”

“I like the sound of that,” Ashley said.

“Yeah. I mean, it’s not the cheapest place on my list, which sucks, ‘cause comedy clubs don’t exactly pay you a fortune.”

_Of course he’s a stand-up comedian._

“But I figure I deserve to treat myself.”

“Anything else on your heart?”

Richie shrugged. “I dunno. I gotta be honest with you, I’ve been feeling pretty damn good these past couple days. Just trying to ride the wave wherever it takes me.”

Ashley put a hand to her heart. “Love it.”

Richie preened. “Thanks, Ash.”

She went around the circle from there, and Eddie was only a little (a lot) embarrassed when he realized she’d skipped over him. _She probably hates you after what you did to Stan._ Bill waxed poetic about his girlfriend with a dopey smile on his face for ten minutes straight, and Ashley listened intently all the while. Ben read a poem he’d written a few nights before, and Mike aired out some frustrations he’d been holding in.

“I just wanna be on the other side of it all already. Y’know?” he asked her.

“You want a little somethin-somethin?” she asked, a mischievous glint in her eyes. Mike nodded eagerly. “The journey is the destination.”

Ben shook his head in awe, and Richie whistled. “Damn.”

“How’s that?” she asked, and Mike just smiled at her.

Then Eddie felt her eyes on him, and he knew it was his turn. “Eddie? How about you, sweetheart?”

He bit his lip. “Struggle...um. Coming here.”

Ashley stared at him. _She hates you she hates you she hates you—_

“Or…accepting that I have to come here?” He thought about his mother. It set his teeth on edge.

“So, maybe,” Ashley offered, “your victory is that you’re here.”

Eddie tried to take that in. “Yeah. Maybe.” He didn’t believe the words.

Ashley thanked them all for a great session and blew out the candle, packing her bag and hugging them goodbye. Eddie slipped out of the room as soon as he could to avoid any sort of interaction. He was the first one in the dining room.

He heard Richie and Ashley laughing it up as she left the house and he stared at a very interesting warp in the wooden table to keep from looking at them.

The table had already been set, and it was Bill’s turn to help bring the dishes of food to the table. He and Paula delivered platters of pasta, chicken breast, and roasted vegetables to the table.

“Did Richie explain about meals?”

“Paula!” Richie said, affronted. “You don’t trust me to explain the intricacies of our dining rituals?”

Paula patted him on the head. “No.”

Richie shrugged, grinning toothily. “Smart choice. I wouldn’t either.”

“I think he covered it, for the most part,” Eddie cut in. He watched as Ben opened a jar of peanut butter and started eating it with a spoon. He must have looked confused enough because Paula continued:

“Eat whatever you want. If you’ve got special food like Ben does, we’ll get it for you.”

“And remember: when you eat, points magically appear!” Richie winked at him. Eddie rolled his eyes. He’d never met a person who actually winked at people seriously in real life. Richie was like a cartoon character.

Eddie reached for the pasta dish and reluctantly scooped a small helping onto his plate, moving it around hesitantly with his fork. _Just a few bites._

Beside him, Stan fidgeted awkwardly in his seat. He was literally sitting on his hands.

Richie scraped a generous portion of veggies and pasta onto his plate, stabbing a heap of pasta with his fork and shoveling it into his mouth. “Oh my Gooood,” he drawled, “so fucking good. It’s so fucking good.”

Stan’s chair scraped loudly on the floor, wobbled for a second, then toppled over as he fled to the living room.

“Stan?” Richie asked, his mouth still full. “Shit. Stanley!” He stood up and jogged to the living room, calling his name. Stan sunk onto the couch, his hand over his mouth as his chest heaved.

Mike’s fork scraped on his plate loudly in the heavy silence.

“You freaked him out with the fifteen hundred thing,” he said gently. “It’s not your fault—”

Eddie’s face burned. “I didn’t mean to—”

“No, no, I know, it’s not your fault,” Mike reassured him. “Stan’s just…”

“It’s his OCD,” Ben supplied, looking at him sympathetically. “The numbers and everything. But you should’ve seen him when he first got here, he’s grown so much.”

“He’s not juh-just upset about the t-t-tube,” Bill reminded them, his voice low. He looked at Eddie, then at his plate. “He might g-get k-k-k-k-k…”

“Kicked out,” Mike finished.

Eddie’s eyes widened. “Wait, seriously? He looks really sick.”

“Dr. Keene always says that hospitals are for sick people,” Ben said. Eddie couldn’t tell if he was defending him or vilifying him. “We’re here to get over that shit.”

Mike pushed his plate away and leaned on his elbows. “This got depressing really fast.”

Eddie craned his neck around to get a look at Stan in the living room. Richie was sitting beside him with an arm around his shoulders, murmuring into his hair and rocking him gently. Eddie thought of what he said to Stan during group and felt the shame wash over him like he was living it again in real-time.

The rest of their meal (if you could call it that) passed in uncomfortable silence. All four of the remaining boys barely touched their food. Eddie stared at Richie’s plate, then at Stan’s, then at his own, and repeated that pattern for about ten minutes. Eventually, they all got up, took their plates to the kitchen (Mike and Ben were on dish duty), and split their separate ways for the evening.

On his way back to his room, Eddie passed Richie and Stan. Richie had gone to get one of Stan’s books and was reading it to him in soft, stupid voices on the couch. Stan was laughing quietly, still sniffling on occasion. It touched something in Eddie’s chest, something that felt uncomfortably fragile. Like his heart was made of glass.

Richie looked up at him over the rim of his glasses. His lips curved into a smile.

Eddie retreated to his room.

He unpacked his bags, watching the sunset spin the clouds into cotton candy outside. He did his suitcase first, then tucked it under his bed. Once he was finished putting away everything in his duffel bag, he slid a hand into each pocket to make sure they were empty, and his fingers closed around a slip of paper. _Beverly._

He wanted to talk to her so badly, but she didn’t get out for another five days. He figured he’d at least make good on his word, call her anyway, just to put his new number in her phone and to hear her voicemail.

Eddie turned to head back to the living room and nearly collided with Dr. Keene.

“Whoa!” Dr. Keene laughed, stepping back and carding a hand through his hair. “Sorry about that, kiddo. I should’ve knocked.”

“Oh, it’s okay,” Eddie breathed, his skin jumping from the spook. “You just startled me.”

“My apologies,” he said. “I’m afraid we’re getting off on the wrong foot. I’m Dr. Keene.” He offered his hand to Eddie, who took it. He was older, with graying hair and a beard, and dressed rather nicely compared to Eddie’s pajama pants and sweater.

“Nice to meet you,” Eddie said, smiling halfheartedly.

“Can we sit?” Dr. Keene asked, motioning towards the bed.

“Oh. Sure.” Eddie moved his empty duffel bag out of the way to make room for them. They both perched on the edge of his bed.

“I have to tell you, Eddie, I rarely admit patients I’ve never met before,” he told him. “But your mother was...quite insistent, and your references from Juniper Hill were more than enough to get me to think twice.”

Eddie huffed out a laugh. He made it sound like he had just gotten accepted into some prestigious college, not like he was a prisoner in a group home for teenage fuck-ups.

“I know what it sounds like,” he admitted, chuckling. “But I do mean it. You’re here because your mother—” didn’t want you anymore “—advocated for you, but if you’re going to stay here I need you to prove to me that you’re a patient worth treating. That you want to live.”

Eddie nodded.

“Speaking of your mother,” he continued, crossing his arms. “It’s typical for me to do family therapy sessions with new patients, just to see where they’re coming from. It’s something standard that I do with everyone I treat. But your mother, she…” Dr. Keene shook his head. Eddie could see the gears turning in his head; _how do I break it to him that his mother is afraid of him?_

“She doesn’t want to see me,” Eddie said matter-of-factly. “I know. It’s okay.”

Dr. Keene nodded slowly. “So since that’s not an option for us—and given her reluctance I’d venture to say it probably wouldn’t be very productive anyway—I’ll be trying some different things, new methods in our one-on-one sessions. Okay?”

“Yeah. Sounds good.”

Dr. Keene patted the bed. “Alright, kiddo. I’ll see you tomorrow morning for your physical,” he said, standing up. “Glad you’re here.”

“Thanks,” Eddie said weakly as Dr. Keene started down the hall. He sighed.

_Prove to me that you’re a patient worth treating. That you want to live._

Eddie wasn’t sure how to do that. But he felt the slip of paper in his hand and recalled his conversation on the phone with Beverly last night:

_Give it a chance, for me?_

He padded into the living room in his socked feet. Richie and Stan were gone. He found the phone and nestled into the corner armchair, punching in Beverly’s number slowly and deliberately. It rang. And rang. And rang. Eddie nervously wound the cord around his fingers. Until:

_Hey, it’s Bev. I can’t come to the phone because I’m either doing something more fun than talking to you or avoiding you. Looking at you, Tom. Stop calling me. Anyway, leave a message and I’ll get back to you! Maybe._

Eddie laughed. The phone beeped.

“Hey, Bev,” Eddie started. “I’m calling, like I said I would...and uh. I think I’m gonna give this place a try. I mean it’s not like I really have a choice, but. Yeah. I wanted you to know. And I hope you come visit, I think you’d really like it here.” Eddie heard Richie burst into a fit of laughter upstairs. “And maybe you were right. About the whole meeting someone thing?…” the words had barely left his mouth before he backtracked, “nope. Nevermind! Pretend I didn’t say that. That was dumb. Anyway, love you. Call me back as soon as you can. Bye.”

Right before he hung up, he pulled the phone back to his face.

“Shit. I forgot. This is Eddie. Bye.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i know this chapter didn’t have as much Reddie Goodness (TM) as the last one (which sucks because i’m literally obsessed with writing richie) but i’m trying my best to make sure this isn’t just a love story. it’s important to me that i focus on eddie’s recovery as well as giving the rest of the losers a fair part to play in his journey. ashley is also based on a real life therapist of mine ! she’s a blessing.  
> lots more reddie to come in the next chapter. ;-) I LOVE YOU ALL!!!! xoxox ursula


	4. oh and i'm alone

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> first of all, i just want to say thank you. the outpouring of love you all have shown me is such fuel. thank you all for reading and sharing your kindnesses with me :-) and second of all, holy shit i feel like it took me years to write this chapter. i’ve been so busy packing these past few days getting ready for The Big Move that i’ve barely had time to write. this chapter was originally gonna be a lot longer but i really didn’t want to keep you guys waiting for another chapter :-) HAPPY READING and i love you all, ursula

Eddie’s appointment with Dr. Keene was at nine the next morning.

He did his morning exercises beside his bed as quietly as he could manage, then drank three glasses of water in rapid succession until he was red in the face and wheezing. He pushed open the window and leaned out, gasping, in case he threw up.

“You know that doesn’t work.”

Eddie tried to keep his head out the window and turn around far enough to see Stan at the same time. He was wearing a soft blue pajama set with his initials emblazoned on the chest pocket.

“I know,” Eddie panted, “I was just thirsty.” The urge to vomit passed and he grabbed his inhaler off of his nightstand, triggering it and breathing deep.

“So thirsty you gave yourself an asthma attack?” Stan asked. His eyebrows were raised just enough that Eddie knew he’d seen everything. He opened his mouth to answer but nothing came out.

“Don’t worry,” Stan said. “I won’t tell anyone.”

Relief washed over him, massaging out the kinks in his shoulders. It felt even better than using his inhaler. “Thanks,” he sighed.

Stan smiled thinly. “Don’t mention it.”

Eddie left to take a shower, their agreement hanging in the air.

He locked the bathroom door behind him with a soft _click,_ setting his towel and his clothes down neatly on the sink before hesitantly looking at his reflection in the mirror. He pulled off the oversized t-shirt he’d slept in and watched his ribs expand with sick pleasure bubbling in his stomach. He stood up as straight as he could, grabbing at his shoulder to feel the slope of his collarbone arch into his hand. His chest bones shifted like tectonic plates under his skin when he bent over and slipped off his pajama pants. He turned this way and that, watching his jutting hip bones curve and dip back into his skin.

_You’ll never be happy with yourself, will you?_

He turned on the water and drowned the thought away.

After he finished up in the shower, Eddie went back to his room to put his pajamas away, only to find Stan doing sit-ups in bed. Without stopping, he looked at Eddie and said in a very practical tone of voice, “Mutually assured destruction.”

They shared a secretive smile, and Eddie walked out of the house with a trace of it still twinkling in his eyes.

Paula drove him to the hospital where Dr. Keene worked while he wasn’t at the home. They made smalltalk as they went, and Eddie realized this was the first time he’d ever had a real conversation, person-to-person, with one of his nurses or doctors. It was refreshing.

When they arrived, Paula parked in the loop out front and told him she’d wait for him in the car. Eddie signed in for his appointment and sat in the waiting room for maybe a minute before Dr. Keene came out and called his name.

“Sorry it’s so early,” he said as they walked down the hallway together. _Why do all hospitals look the same?_ “I like to get you guys in for appointments before your day starts.”

“That’s alright,” Eddie told him politely, “I’m actually more of a morning person, anyway.”

“Well, that makes you, me, and Stan,” Dr. Keene chuckled. “It’s like pulling teeth getting the rest of the boys here any earlier than noon. Especially Richie.”

Eddie bit back a laugh. “That makes a lot of sense.”

When they got to the exam room, Dr. Keene handed him a fresh hospital gown and left so Eddie could change. He stared at it with contempt, hoping if he summoned enough anger it would spontaneously combust. He _hated_ hospital gowns. He’d rather go running stark naked down a crowded street than have to wear one of those itchy paper dresses for five more minutes.

He put it on anyway.

Dr. Keene came back in with a chart on a clipboard and a laptop tucked under his arm. He set up shop on the edge of the counter and asked a few basic questions before he began the exam. Eddie knew what was coming next; he was a seasoned pro at these.

“Let’s get you on the scale.”

Eddie stepped up on the scale and stared blankly ahead as Dr. Keene slid the numbers around right in front of his face. When he lifted his hand, Eddie saw it:

100.

“Alright. Step off.”

Two pounds in two days.

Dr. Keene asked him more questions, and Eddie found himself answering more enthusiastically than before. He put on his stethoscope, coming behind Eddie and gingerly opening up the back of his gown. _God, it’s cold in here._

“Breathe in.”

Eddie took a deep breath through his nose. The stethoscope was like ice on his back.

“And out.”

He breathed out.

“In.”

He breathed in.

“Out.”

He breathed out.

“And one more time, in.”

He breathed in.

“And out.”

He breathed out, his head spinning. Dr. Keene took off his stethoscope and hung it around his neck.

“You do a lot of sit-ups.”

“Not that many,” Eddie lied.

“It wasn’t a question. That’s where you get these bruises on your spine.”

“Oh.” Eddie was quiet as he watched him punch something into his computer. He sat on his little swivel-hip stool, rolled forward, and took Eddie’s arm, examining his wrist, the inside of his arm, his hand.

“Have you given any more thought to what I said last night?” he asked.

He had, in fact. He thought back to the message he’d left Beverly last night, but after seeing the number on the scale he felt a sharp pang of regret. _Just wanna make it to the double digits._

Then again, maybe if he lied, it would get Keene off his back. At least for a little while. _Just until I hit 95. Then I’ll stop._

But Eddie was a terrible liar.

“I think that...I’m ready to try,” he told him, and Dr. Keene looked up. “It’s what my mom would want.”

Dr. Keene nodded, then rolled back in his stool. “Eddie, I talk to kids like you all day, every day. So I know that you are, as a rule, full of shit.”

Eddie winced.

“I need you to do this for _you,_ ” Dr. Keene said, suddenly looking very old. “Not for your mom. Not for me. For you.”

He told Eddie when his next appointment was, but Eddie wasn’t listening. Before he gathered his things and left, Dr. Keene turned, grabbed a jar off his desk, and handed it to Eddie.

“You don’t have to eat it, but you have to take one,” he said. The jar was full of licorice, half red and half black. Eddie couldn’t remember the last time he’d had licorice—even before all of this started.

“These were my favorite when I was a kid,” Eddie murmured, more to himself than to Dr. Keene, tentatively pulling out a piece of black licorice.

Dr. Keene gave him a knowing smile. “I’ll see you next week.”

Eddie set the jar on the counter and dressed himself in a daze. The piece of licorice he’d chosen rested untouched on a paper towel beside him, and he watched it out of the corner of his eye like it might bite him if he turned his back for too long. Like those magic licorice whips in Harry Potter.

He folded it in the paper towel as he left, occasionally lifting it to his nose. It smelled like summers at home, back when his dad was still around and he was allowed to be a kid.

He discreetly threw it in the trash on his way out.

It was ten by the time Eddie got back to the house. When he walked in, the smell of bacon and eggs hit him like a freight train. His stomach growled angrily at him and he folded his hands together, then pressed on it under his sweater. It shut up.

The boys were all sitting around the table, most of them still in their pajamas. And by most of them he meant all of them except Stan, who was dressed in a smart button-down and _holy shit was that a bowtie?_

It was.

“Good morning, Eds!” Richie called. His hair was sticking up in every direction. “I see you got the memo. You look _smashing.”_

Eddie looked down at his sweatpants and then looked back up at Richie. “What?”

“It’s Casual Friday,” Ben told him. He was wearing a sweatshirt with a panda on the front. “We wear pajamas all day.”

“Except Stan,” Mike added. Stan rolled his eyes.

“Who’s Stan?” Richie asked Mike. “I think you mean Mr. Uris, world’s youngest businessman.”

Stan kicked Richie under the table.

“Mr. Uris, where are your manners?” Richie gaped, sounding like an old-timey butler, “it isn’t polite to—”

Richie pulled his knees up to his chest and cackled as Stan tried to kick him again.

“He’s p-puh-protesting.” Bill grinned.

“I’m right here, you know!” Stan said, exasperated, a blush rising to his cheeks.

“Aw, Stanthony, your face matches your bowtie,” Richie cooed.

The table burst into helpless snickers and Bill patted Stan on the shoulder as he giggled. Stan glowered at them, shooting Eddie a look that read: _help me or I’ll gut you in your sleep._

Eddie cracked a smile and shrugged.

While Stan tried to defend himself from the sudden onslaught of teasing the boys had subjected him to, Richie stood up, and Eddie wasn’t at all surprised to see that he was wearing Spiderman pajama pants. He pulled out the chair beside him and pushed up his glasses.

“I saved a seat for you,” he said sheepishly.

Eddie pressed his lips together to keep his smile at bay. He was thankful that Stan was shouting something at Mike now, who was clutching his stomach and laughing so hard he was crying, diverting all attention from him and Richie.

“Thank you,” he said, slipping into his chair.

“Anytime,” Richie replied.

The rest of breakfast went by in a flash, largely because they were all having such a good time. They talked and laughed together like they’d known each other their whole lives. Afterwards, they met with Ashley for a morning session in the living room. She gave Eddie a journal with a note written in loopy script on the first page that read _to eddie. “darkness is your candle.” -rumi_

Next was lunch, then they split up for the remainder of the day. Bill was going to the movies with his girlfriend—he’d amassed enough points to earn a whole day out on the town with her and he was quite pleased with himself. Richie had therapy at two with Dr. Keene, and Mike was going to visit his parents for the day.

Eddie kept to himself that the afternoon. He sat on the front porch for a bit and read a book he’d borrowed from the library, then went inside and took a nap.

He woke up to the sound of voices echoing down the hall.

He shuffled to the kitchen to get a glass of water, feeling like he’d woken up in an alternate dimension. The sky was graying outside. The kitchen clock read six thirty. Eddie could have slept for a million more years.

On his way back to his room, someone called his name. He turned around and poked his head into Bill’s room. There was a girl sitting on his bed.

“Did you call me?” Eddie asked. Bill nodded eagerly.

“I wanted you t-to meet my girlfriend. Eddie, this is Audra,” he said, indicating the girl, “Audra, Eh-Eddie.”

Audra smiled sweetly at him, waving at him from the bed. Eddie was floored by how similar she looked to Beverly. “Hi,” she said, “nice to meet you.”

“You too. Bill talks about you like, all the time,” he told her, his voice still tired with sleep. “And I just got here yesterday, so.”

She laughed, looking at Bill with absolute adoration. “Really?”

“Really.” _And it’s already annoying._ “What movie did you see?”

“Solo,” Bill replied. “It was really g-good.”

“Emilia Clarke is amazing,” Audra said, falling back on the bed. “I wanna be her.”

“Duh-don’t say that,” Bill said, leaning over the other side of the bed so their faces were opposite each other. “I love you, not Emilia C-C-Clarke.”

“Then I’m the luckiest girl in the world,” Audra said, smiling up at him. Eddie awkwardly watched them share a gentle kiss, a twinge of jealousy plucking at his heart. He slipped out of the doorway, standing in the hallway and looking up at the ceiling. Maybe it was annoying because he wanted someone to talk about _him_ like Bill talked about Audra.

 _No one will ever love you like that,_ a nasty voice hissed in his ear. It was his own voice, twisted and warped. _Even your own mother didn’t want you. Suck it up._

That put him in an astoundingly foul mood. He sat on his bed, his hand wrapped around his skeletal wrist, trying to measure away the hurt. _No one is making you feel this way but you!_ the logical part of his brain screeched at him. Then he heard Bill and Audra’s laughter float down the hall and he retreated back into his bitterness, wishing his room had a door he could slam.

“Hey.” Eddie looked up and saw Ben standing in the doorway. “Dinner’s ready.”

“I’m staying in here,” Eddie said, trying his best to pluck up even a half-assed smile for him.

“You don’t have to eat,” Ben reminded him apologetically, “but everyone has to come to the table.”

Eddie grudgingly followed him to the dining room. Richie, Mike, and Stan were already seated. Bill was conveniently missing from his usual spot at the head of the table. The only other empty seat was beside Stan.

The nasty voice— _his_ nasty voice—slithered up on his shoulder again. _Richie didn’t save you a seat._

Eddie sat down and tuned out their conversation, stabbing a drumstick with his fork and shaking it onto his plate. He pulled chunks off the bone, cut them up into tiny slivers, peeled the skin off and pushed it to the edge of his plate.

“You’ve been awful quiet, Eddie Spaghetti. How are you doin’?”

Eddie looked up at Richie. He dropped his fork onto the table and stood up, his chair raking across the floor.

“Finished.”

He stalked out of the room, trying to stay calm. He started to feel his trachea press in on itself, his breaths coming more and more raggedly. He speed-walked to his room, grabbed his inhaler off his desk and triggered it once, twice. He waited for the storm inside of him to pass, shoving the inhaler in his pocket and opening up his window.

He breathed in the cool air, damp with humidity from the rain that didn’t fall. He leaned on the windowsill, catching his breath and staring out at the backyard. There was a patio area that he hadn’t noticed before, with a brick walkway fenced-in by tall lattices and a swing hanging from a tree branch in the middle of the yard. Everything was lit warmly with fairy lights strung all over. It looked like something out of a movie. Richie had shown him the back door on his tour—

_No way in hell I’m going back out there._

So he climbed out of his window.

Eddie wandered through the garden, down the walkway, and sat on the swing, dragging his feet in the dirt aimlessly. The sun had set behind the trees and the only light that shone was from the lamp that hung over the back door and the twinkling lights on the patio. It was like he was trapped in a Pinterest wedding photo.

He was startled by the distant sound of the back door sliding open and closed. There were footsteps, then the distinct sound of a lighter clicking before the smell of cigarette smoke drifted through the air.

“So. You really hate being called Eddie Spaghetti that much?” asked Richie, laughter riding on his voice. “I mean, you stormed outta there like you were on Real Housewives of Portland and someone just threw a glass of white wine on you.”

“I have asthma,” Eddie said lamely, looking back at Richie. The lamplight lit the back of his hair like a halo, his hands tucked in his pockets and a cigarette hanging out of his mouth. Smoke billowed from between his lips as he spoke.

“I’ll stay over here,” Richie said, smirking. “It’s a bummer, I thought that nickname was some of my more creative work—”

“You know those things are awful for you,” Eddie huffed.

“Yeah, well.” Richie flicked his cigarette. “So is starving yourself. Besides, I’m celebrating. I broke 120 today.”

Eddie looked back at him. “Is that going up or down?”

“Up,” Richie said. “A hundred when I came in.”

Eddie closed his eyes, saw a flash of the scale in the exam room. 100. It was such an even, perfect number. _90 is even better._

“Hey. Spaghetti Man.”

Eddie glared at him. “I’m not in the mood.”

Richie took a drag on his cigarette. It pissed Eddie off that he made it look good. “Maybe I should pay your mom a visit then, ‘cause she’s always down to—”

“Richie,” Eddie snapped. “I kinda wanna be alone.”

“Great,” Richie said, stubbing out his cigarette on his shoe and pulling up a lawn chair beside Eddie. “We can be alone together.”

“Who the hell made you house den mother?” Eddie asked him, as bitingly as he could manage without risking a voice crack. “You walk around here like—like you’ve got it all _figured out._ If you’re so fixed and special, why the fuck are you still here?” The words tumbled out before he could stop himself.

_That’s right. Push him away. It’s what you do best._

Richie frowned. “Actually, if we had a house den mother it’d be Bill, I’m just way louder—” he waved a hand “—but that’s not the point. Point is, I’ll be outta here as soon as my BMI is closer to my age. But right now I’d rather try and help people than mope around and feel sorry for myself.”

The words stung, but they were true. “You have no idea how I’m feeling,” Eddie said. Tears were shining in his eyes. _Don’t cry in front of him don’t you dare—_

“I never said I did,” Richie said gently. It just made Eddie angrier.

“And what, you wanna help people?” Eddie continued, trying to ignore the burning lump in his throat. “What are you, a doctor now? You feel pretty proud of yourself?”

“Actually, yeah, I am,” Richie said, more aggressively this time. “I’m moving the needle in the right direction. Sorry if that scares you.” Richie stood up. “But y’know, people actually go home sometimes and have a life. Even people with fucked-up families.”

Eddie looked up at him sharply, Richie’s face more serious than he’d ever seen it. He hated how far he had to crane his neck up just to look him in the eye, so he looked back at the ground.

Richie scoffed. “Yeah. There goes that fuckin’ excuse again, huh?”

He left Eddie with nothing but a sense of cold dread in the pit of his stomach and the lingering smell of smoke on his clothes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> until next time! stay tuned to find out what crazy shenanigans our valiant heroes will get up to next. xxxxooooo


	5. you don’t have to be afraid

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HI HI HI!!!!! i’m back! it literally took forever to write this chapter because i’ve been so busy lately. this chapter is a little shorter but it’s way more relationship-heavy than the other chapters so far. in the film, the time jump between the ellen/luke scene in his room vs. the movie night scene happen within five minutes of each other, but i always thought that was weird so i split them up by a day. yay executive decisions. HAPPY READING AND I LOVE U ALL!!!!!!

  
After his fight with Richie, Eddie went inside and curled up pathetically on his bed, thinking himself further into the pit he’d so generously dug for himself.

The thing that really made him burn was that Richie was right. He’d been nothing but a self-pitying mess ever since he showed up here—and probably since before then, too. It was all well and good to blame his mother for all of this, but when was he going to start holding _himself_ more accountable? He had been so busy wallowing in his own shame that he’d taken Richie’s progress as a personal attack.

_God. You are so selfish._

He would never admit he was wrong. But he could apologize in his own way.

Eddie swallowed his pride, trekked out of his room, and climbed up the stairs. He saw the lights on in Richie’s room and suddenly the hallway seemed to warp and stretch a hundred miles long. His heart jumped up in his throat as he quietly made his way down.

He knocked softly on the door frame, hiding behind it as much as he could.

“Enter.”

Eddie stepped inside, still hugging the wall awkwardly. “Hi.”

Richie was sprawled out on the floor by the foot of his bed, scribbling away in a notebook. He looked up, a slow smile spreading across his face. “Hey.”

“Don’t look so pleased with yourself,” he said, rolling his eyes and trying not to smile. He felt like he did that a lot around Richie.

“Wow.” Richie rolled over onto his back and propped himself up on his elbows. His glasses were sliding down his nose. “I never thought I’d meet anyone more defensive than I am.”

“And yet…” Eddie said, gesturing to himself. “What are you doing?”

“Oh,” Richie said, reaching for the notebook he’d been frantically writing in moments ago and sitting up. “This old thing. It’s my stand-up journal, I use it to write down jokes and ideas for impressions and shit like that. I have to write them down pretty soon after I think of ‘em otherwise…” he mimed something going in one ear and out the other.

“I think that’s really cool,” Eddie said absentmindedly, looking around at his room. “That you do stand-up. It makes a lot of sense.”

His room was exactly what Eddie expected his room to look like; posters plastered all over the walls and clothes strewn haphazardly across every surface. Most of the posters were of various eighties rock bands, but there were some film posters scattered throughout his room as well as a poster of Bo Burnham and some other comedians Eddie didn’t recognize.

“Thanks,” Richie said. “You should come see one of my sets sometime. If you’re cute you get in for free.”

“Ha-ha.”

“It was worth a shot,” he shrugged. “No, but seriously, you should come,” Richie continued, letting up on his joking tone of voice. “I’d really like it if you did.”

Eddie looked at him. He looked so sincere and incredibly different from the Richie he’d been talking to outside. “Okay. Yeah. I’d like that.”

Richie grinned.

They talked forever, Eddie wandering around his room like he was at an art museum and Richie narrating enthusiastically, occasionally laughing at his own jokes and turning to jot them down in his notebook. Eddie asked him about his posters and learned that Richie had quite a thing for rock music.

“I think I was Bon Jovi in a past life,” Richie mused. “I mean, I know he’s still alive, but it stands. He’s my muse.”

“Really?” Eddie asked. “I couldn’t tell from the seventeen posters you have of him.”

Richie gave him the same look he’d given him yesterday, slack-jawed and shocked. “Eds Gets Off a Good One!” Then he laughed, loud, and Eddie followed suit.

“What are you _saying_?” Eddie asked, still giggling through his words.

“It’s Tozier-speak for ‘good joke,’” Richie explained. “I really should come with an instruction manual.”

“Will it tell me where your off-switch is?” Eddie leaned back on Richie’s bed.

“I could tell you that one,” Richie said easily. “It’s my dick.”

Eddie went ten different shades of red, covering his face and all but squeaking, “ewww!”

“Oh my God, you are the cutest.”

“Shut up,” Eddie said from behind his hands.

They laughed for a little while more, until they were both sighing and sitting on the edge of his bed, a comfortable-but-not-weird distance between them.

Eddie felt his apology creeping up his spine. He came here for a reason, not to aimlessly flirt. _Is that what’s happening?_ Eddie wasn’t sure. He’d never flirted before. He was pretty sure this was it.

“How do you do it?” Eddie asked, filling the silence. “Eat. I mean. I see you, and I just get...I get all panicky even thinking about it, like, the world’s going to fall apart. I almost had an asthma attack after dinner tonight.”

“No shit,” Richie said, snorting. “I thought you were gonna blow your top. You were whistling like a damn tea kettle.”

Eddie elbowed him and Richie laughed, falling back on the bed with his arms behind his head.

“I feel that way, too,” he said, “without the asthma part, obviously. But y’know, feel the fear and do it anyway.”

“Yeah, but aren’t you scared you’re not gonna be able to stop?” Eddie asked, his voice quiet. “That you’re just gonna—”

“Be like one of those people who has to be lifted out of their bed with a crane?” Richie finished his thought for him. Eddie looked back at him, then looked down at his lap.

“That’s how my mom is.” His quiet voice bled into the room. “I mean, it’s not that bad.” _Yet_ , he thought. It could be soon.

“Shit,” Richie breathed, sitting up. Eddie didn’t want to be close to him anymore, felt too susceptible to lean on his shoulder or reach for his hand or worse. “Is that why she didn’t come with you?”

Eddie nodded. “I don’t think she can drive anymore. Well, that and…” Nope. That was for another time. He wasn’t getting into that now, not with Richie so close and so understanding and looking down at him like he was a lost puppy.

“Nevermind,” he backtracked. “What were we talking about?”

“Food,” Richie said.

“Right,” Eddie replied. He fidgeted awkwardly, not really wanting to talk about it anymore.

“What would your last meal be?” Richie asked suddenly. “Nothing is off-limits.”

Eddie thought for a minute, then stifled a smile. “Um...hah. Do you know what a Goo Goo Cluster is?”

Richie gaped at him. “Oh my God. Yeah. Best candy bar ever, hands down.” He looked up at the ceiling. “Peanutty...marshmallowy...greatness.”

Eddie laughed. “Yeah. My last meal would be a whole box of ‘em.”

Richie nodded, slowly. Then he smirked. “How would you eat them?” he asked slyly. He leaned into Eddie’s space and whispered, “Show me.”

Eddie could feel Richie’s body heat and even though he knew it was just a stupid joke, his hands started to tremble and his heart went utterly berserk in his chest. He almost reached for his inhaler but instead his hands were pushing Richie away and he was saying, “gross. You wish.”

He didn’t sound convincing at all.

Richie laughed at that and Eddie stood up, his face hot and his throat tight. “I should probably, um…” he gestured towards the door.

“Right,” Richie said, frowning a little. Eddie could feel his eyes on his back as he went for the door.

“I’ll see you tomorrow…?” he asked, hanging on the doorframe.

“Where else would I be?” Richie asked with a winning smile. Eddie smiled back nervously.

“Right. Duh,” he said, suddenly embarrassed. “Bye.”

“Bye, Eds!” Richie called as he disappeared from the doorway.

Eddie didn’t correct him this time.

When he was at Juniper Hill, the days seemed to drag on endlessly. They were sluggish and boring and hard and Eddie hated every second he spent there. Here, the days seemed to pass in the blink of an eye. He felt so much more at home, and being stuck in the house all day was much easier with the other boys there to keep him company.

The next day, he hung out with Ben and Bill in the backyard after breakfast. Ben was showing them the designs for a new garden structure that he wanted to build with the help of the other boys in the house. After lunch, he went up to Mike’s room for a while and read comics with him. And after dinner was movie night; all the boys gave their dishes to Richie, who was on kitchen duty, and went to the living room to start rearranging furniture. Richie wanted to build a pillow fort, but since he was washing dishes, they ignored him.

After the TV was brought in and the movie was picked (it was Stan’s night to choose, so they were watching some weird nature documentary), they dimmed the lights and spread out on the couches and chairs. Eddie curled up next to the arm of the couch, watching the rest of the boys watch the beginning of the movie. Mike and Bill were sprawled out on the couch with him, and Stan was tucked into an armchair with a blanket and pillow. Ben was sitting on a pillow on the floor. But Richie was noticeably absent.

Eddie zoned out. He stared at the screen, not really seeing it. He saw Richie out of the corner of his eye and shifted in his seat as he sidled up to him.

“Hey, Eds,” he said quietly. Eddie’s face was at eye-level with his…belt buckle.

“Don’t call me that,” Eddie mumbled. He looked back at the screen, thankful when Richie crouched down so he was face to face with him.

“I got you a present.” His voice was soft.

Eddie looked at him quizzically. “What are you…?”

Richie stuck a hand in his pocket and Eddie heard paper crinkle. Richie gave him a funny look. “Huh. That’s weird. Wonder what that might be…”

He pulled his hand out and laying flat in his huge palm was a Goo Goo Cluster.

“You know you want it.” Richie dangled it in front of Eddie’s face like he was trying to hypnotize him, a mischievous twinkle in his eyes. His face was lit only by the dim, flickering light of the TV.

“Shhh.” Stan was glaring at them from his chair.

“Okay, don’t make it a sex thing,” Eddie murmured, looking back to Richie..

“It _is_ a sex thing,” Richie retorted, and of course he was one of those people who didn’t know how to whisper, “don’t pretend it’s not.”

Richie held it up in front of his face and asked, “ready?” Eddie didn’t say anything.

Richie peeled open the wrapper and _moaned_ , looking Eddie right in the eyes. He was glad the lights were off so Richie couldn’t see the way his cheeks were burning.

He laughed and dug his fingers in the package. “And…” he said, fishing it out and holding it up to Eddie reverently, “here it is.”

Eddie shook his head. “I...I can’t.”

“You can,” Richie said, giving him an encouraging smile.

“I can’t. Did you even wash your hands before you—”

“I was on dish duty. My hands are clean. No excuses, Kaspbrak,” Richie pressed. “You can do this.”

Eddie stared at the candy. _240 calories_ , he thought, _110 from fat._ How much had he eaten that day? He wanted a glass of water first.

“Chew, swallow,” Richie said, resting a hand on Eddie’s knee. Eddie’s heart rate spiked. “The world will not implode. I swear.”

Eddie stared at the candy. Oh, he wanted it. He wanted to shove it in his face. He pinched his thigh, hard. _No you don’t! No you don’t!_

“Come ooon,” Richie said, waving it in front of his face. “Do it.”

“D-duh-duh-do it,” Bill said quietly from the couch. Eddie glanced at him and realized no one was watching the movie anymore. All eyes were on him. And Richie. Who was still dangling that stupid piece of candy right in his face.

“Do it,” Richie whispered.

Eddie leaned in, trying not to watch the way Richie’s eyes lit up when he smelled it. _Oh. God._ It smelled amazing. He couldn’t even remember the last time he’d smelled chocolate. _Fuck._

“God,” he sighed, pulling away. If he got too close, he’d bite. And that wasn’t allowed.

“Right?” Richie grinned. Now it was his turn to lean in. “Touch it.”

“We can hear you, weirdo!” Stan said from the armchair. Apparently he was still watching the movie.

“Yeah, weirdo, don’t be so gross,” Eddie murmured, smiling faintly.

“Come on, just a little,” Richie practically whined. “Come on.”

Eddie hesitantly reached out and touched the candy bar, rubbing his fingers just a little bit to get some chocolate off. If it had smelled amazing before, it smelled even better now. The whole room was filled with the smell of chocolate and peanut butter. Eddie felt sick.

“Right, okay,” Richie said, shifting and scooting closer. “Now. A little bite...for me.”

“For you?” Eddie asked, slightly astonished.

Richie hummed in response.

“I didn’t even like you until last night,” Eddie lied. “So, like…maybe just, you know, not—”

“You like me?” Richie almost dropped the candy bar. He laughed. “You like me!”

“Shut up—”

“He likes me,” Richie sing-songed to the other boys.

“Shut up.”

“Don’t press your luck,” Mike told him. Richie ignored it.

“He likes me. You _like me._ ” Richie tapped Eddie on the knee, his fingers sending sparks dancing across his skin.

Eddie pushed his hand off. “Can we be done—”

“You liiiike me. Take a bite, come on,” Richie kept moving the candy bar closer to Eddie’s face and he _wouldn’t shut up_ —

“Okay—”

“Just a little bite!”

“—seriously, _back off._ ” Eddie looked Richie dead in the eyes, and watched the smile fade from his face. The air between them was so charged Eddie’s hair was standing on end. He looked away. “God.”

The room was awkwardly silent for a long moment, the muffled sounds of some generic British narrator playing behind them. Then Richie pushed up his glasses and laughed.

“Coward.”

Eddie blinked up at him. Richie was smiling again, softer this time. Undeterred. He leaned in. “Tomorrow, you bite.”

He stood up and walked away.

Eddie could feel the boys’ eyes boring holes into him and he scoffed out a nervous laugh.

“Richie just made me touch chocolate.” He wiped his fingers on his sweater sleeve.

“He’s so weird,” Stan said, shaking his head and turning his attention back to the TV.

“Yeah. He can be real weird sometimes,” Mike added, shrugging.

“He always gets crazy spastic around people he’s trying to impress,” Ben said plainly, not looking at Eddie, “he feels like he has to overcompensate so people don’t—”

“Buh- _Ben_ ,” Bill said, sharply and quietly. “W-we’re not sup-puh-posed to t-t-talk about that.”

Ben glanced at Eddie, embarrassed. “Right. Sorry.”

Eddie stared at them blankly. Now he wanted to know.

“It’s an Ashley thing,” Mike supplied, leaning down to tell him in a low voice. “The Well of Confidentiality. It’s a fancy way of saying don’t talk about other people’s personal shit outside of therapy.”

Eddie sat back and stared at the wrapper on the floor. Carefully, and with great pains not to crinkle the paper, he picked it up. His hands were shaking as he brought it to his face and inhaled deeply.

The scent of chocolate and peanut butter almost knocked him over. It was overwhelming. Almost immediately, his stomach started growling. “Oh my God.” His voice was muffled by his hands.

The boys all looked over at him, at his nose buried in the wrapper. He looked at Mike and held it over to him. “You gotta smell this.”

Mike looked at him like he had three heads, but he took it. He held it as if Eddie had just handed him a crack pipe, not a candy wrapper. Confused, he smelled it. Eddie watched, pleased, as his eyes fluttered shut and he smelled it again. “Oh, wow.” Eyes still closed, he handed it to Bill. “Yeah, you gotta get in on this.”

As the wrapper made its way to Bill and Ben, the boys chattered amongst themselves, ignoring the film until Stan piped up from his chair, “Is anyone even watching this anymore?”

“No one cares about penguins!”

“You’re right,” Stan snapped, “and that’s why they’re dying at such an alarming rate!”

The conversation escalated into an argument that ended in Stan nearly falling out of his chair laughing at a penguin pun that Mike made. While the boys cracked up, Eddie stared at the wrapper that had somehow made its way back to him.

_Tomorrow, you bite._

Eddie slipped the wrapper in his pocket.

Tomorrow.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> we stan one (1) stan. i needed a little bit of stan happiness at the end there because things are about to get...Not Good for our little buddy. XXXXOOOOO love and kisses thank u for sticking by my side through my inconsistent updates, ursula


	6. i thought that love was a kind of emptiness

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> GUESS WHO'S BACK AND BETTER THAN EVER (hopefully)????!?!?!!!!??

Eddie had a therapy appointment, alone, with Dr. Keene the next day.

This was different than a weigh-in; he might actually have to divulge personal information, be tempted to reveal secrets he’d never told anyone (because he’d never had anyone to tell). He hated therapy. Every doctor, every counselor he’d ever met had had a way of sneakily manipulating things out of him under the guise of protection and safety—adults could be so shitty like that.

Eddie prepped for his appointment in the shower. He briefed himself on topics they’d probably discuss: his mother. His home life. School. Previous inpatients and outpatients he’d done. Friendships, past and present. _Et cetera, et cetera._

Eddie had told his Life Story so many times that it no longer felt like his own. Daddy died, Mommy went crazy, lonely-only-child Eddie realized the only way to maintain control was to control his diet. Mommy lied about her baby’s “medicine,” and this time it was _his_ turn to go crazy, poor thing winds up in the hospital, smash cut to present day. _Isn’t this exciting?_

He thought if he had to go through it one more time, he’d lose it.

But the first thing Dr. Keene said when he sat down on the couch in his office was:

“I don’t like your name.”

“...what?”

“I don’t like your name,” he shrugged, crossing his legs and folding his hands in his lap, like his fancy desk chair was a pathetically small throne. “I don’t think it suits you.”

“Well, I didn’t choose it, so…?” Eddie spoke slowly, confused.

“I know. Which is why I think we should change it.”

Eddie blinked. “Um. Okay. To what?”

Dr. Keene proceeded to rattle off a variation of names that, across the board, Eddie hated.

“Edward.” _Next._

“Ned?” _Gross._

“Teddy.” _Nope._

The session was inconclusive. Eddie walked out an hour later, stunned that they had wasted so much time trying to pick a new name for him when he was perfectly happy with the one he had. _Maybe if you’d had the guts to tell him that when he brought it up, you actually would’ve gotten somewhere today. It’s your fault._

Eddie got back just before dinner. He headed straight to Richie’s room, but didn’t even realize it until he was halfway up the second flight of stairs.

_What the fuck are you doing?_

He considered going back down, wondering what kind of stupid argument they’d get themselves in today. But then he remembered all the fantastically ridiculous names Keene had thought up for him, and he needed to tell someone. Needed to laugh with someone about them.

So he went up.

Richie was sitting cross-legged at his desk on his laptop. Eddie knocked gently on the doorframe, and Richie looked up. He grinned.

“Why, hello there,” he crowed, pushing his chair away and rolling across the floor dramatically. He put on a French accent a la Inspector Clouseau and continued, “to what do I owe ze pleasure of your companee in _Chez Tozier?”_

Eddie smiled and rolled his eyes. “The weirdest therapy session with Dr. Keene.”

“Ah. He tried to get you to change your name, didn’t he?” Richie pushed up his glasses.

“Yes!”

“Oh my _God._ He’s gotta get some new tactics,” Richie mused. “Literally the only person that’s worked on so far has been Ben. And he was going by Benjamin before, so. That barely counts.”

Eddie sat down on Richie’s bed, not noticing the surprised-mixed-with-disbelieving-mixed-with-overjoyed look that flashed across Richie’s face. He rolled back to his desk, then pushed in his chair and joined Eddie.

“He tried to get me to go by Dick,” Richie said, flopping down beside him. “Which is just...I mean, way to let a guy know what you think of him right out the gate, y’know?”

Eddie laughed, missing entirely the way Richie stared at him with stars in his eyes.

“So. What did he try to call you?” Richie asked, sitting up and rubbing his hands together. “Hit me.”

“Uh, lemme think…” Eddie started, “oh. _Edward.”_

Richie made a face. “Yuck. There’s a reason you go by Eddie.”

“Yeah. Um, Ned.”

“Ew! I wish you had never said that. You sound like a middle-aged office worker.”

“And, uh. Teddy.”

“Okay, that’s not the worst, but you’re also not five.” Richie gasped. “Awww, I bet you were such a cute kid, Eds.”

“Don’t call me that,” Eddie said, his tone too light for Richie to do anything but grin cheekily at him, “and I really wasn’t. I was kind of sheltered.”

“I _super_ don’t believe you. I bet you were all kinds of adorable. I mean, you had to have been adorable at some point to turn out this cute.”

“Shut up,” Eddie said, more gently than irritated. He stood up and went to stare at the posters on Richie’s wall, afraid to look him in the eye. He felt narcissistic, thinking that Richie was flirting with him, but he _swore_ he could feel Richie’s eyes still on his back. He felt heavy.

“You’re dazzling,” Richie said suddenly. “You know that, Eddie?”

Eddie felt like his heart was trembling. He allowed himself a secret smile, desperately willing the warmth out of his cheeks as he turned around to face Richie, who was looking at him in a way that Eddie had never been looked at before.

Eddie opened his mouth to speak but before he could, Richie was speeding ahead.

“So!” He clapped his hands together and bounced to his feet. “I’m officially inviting you on my dinner out tomorrow night. As part of my reward, I can take anyone I want.” He pushed his glasses up and shoved his hands in his pockets. He rocked back and forth on his heels expectantly, and Eddie’s stomach sank pathetically when he realized he’d have to say no.

“I’m not really restaurant-ready, but...thanks,” he said weakly.

“It can be your pick,” Richie floundered, a hand running through his wild curls. _Is he nervous?_ Eddie wondered suddenly. _He talks a big game for someone who can’t even stand still when he’s asking someone on a date—_

 _Whoa._ This was not a date. Richie never said it was a date. All he did was ask him to tag along to dinner. And flirt with him. And call him dazzling.

_Dazzling? Who even talks like that anymore?!_

Apparently, Richie Tozier.

“It doesn’t even have to be on my list,” he said, coaxing Eddie back to reality.

He shook his head. “No, you should take someone who bites and chews—”

“We can walk there.”

Eddie looked at him. Like, _really_ looked at him. Richie raised an eyebrow and Eddie watched his lips curve into a smirk. He knew he’d won.

“Aaaall the way to Hollywood, or wherever,” he added, “and you don’t have to eat.” He leaned back on the bed, triumph in his every move.

Eddie crossed his arms. “Can I run?”

Richie made a face. “I don’t run. Unless I’m being chased. Or there’s a strip club very nearby that doesn’t check ID.”

Eddie rolled his eyes. “Well, can you walk fast?”

Richie just sighed.

The next night, Eddie was obsessively checking the clock (it was 6:30) pacing around his room, trying to convince himself that he was pacing because it burned calories and not because he was so nervous his whole body was shaking.

Stan walked in at 6:31.

“You get points taken away if they catch you walking around like that,” he said flatly, and Eddie nearly jumped out of his skin.

“Shit, Stan,” he breathed, “you scared me.” He put a hand to his chest, as if that would still his heartbeat some. It did not.

“Sorry,” Stan shrugged. “Just looking out for you.”

Eddie nodded. “Thanks.”

He sat down on his bed, fixed his eyes on the clock, tapped his feet subconsciously. Stan glared at him.

“Okay, I know fidgeting burns calories too, but now you’re just being annoying.”

“Sorry!” Eddie squeaked, pressing on his knees. “I’m just nervous.”

Stan looked at him quizzically. “Nervous? About what—”

Just then, there was a rhythmic knock on the doorframe and Richie’s head of wild curls poked around the corner. Stan and Eddie both whipped their heads in his direction.

“Hellooo,” Richie began awkwardly, leaning in the door. “Did I interrupt something? The tension in here is...ripe.”

“We were just gossiping,” Stan said simply.

“Oh, really?” Richie was intrigued now. He put on his best (which meant his most mediocre with the least amount of difficulty) Affronted Southern Belle Voice and said, “well, Mary-Jo-Beth told me that Lou-Ann told her that the mayor is in talks to close the soda pop shop and put in a—God have mercy—a _Walgreens._ The horror!”

Stan rolled his eyes so far Eddie worried they might get stuck. “Take your date and go be weird somewhere else, Rich. I’m having a night in.”

Eddie went red at Stan’s words. _Your date_. Would Richie correct him? Would he wonder if Eddie told Stan it was a date even though Richie never said it was oh God it was going to eat him alive—

Richie grinned. “I promise I’ll have him back before ten, Mr. Uris.”

“Yeah, yeah. Just don’t wake me up.”

Richie nodded to the hallway, fixing Eddie with an easy smile. “Ready?”

Eddie nodded and tried to return the smile as easily as Richie had, but no such luck. As they left, Richie called to Stan to “enjoy yer evenin’,” in a passable Irish acccent and started loudly singing a horribly off-key rendition of _O Danny Boy_ , replacing the word “Danny” with “Stanny”.

Eddie laughed silently the whole way out the door.

Once they were outside, it was like a whole other world. Eddie had been here for a week and already it felt like he had been stuck inside for _ages._ The air was cool but not cold, enough that he needed an extra sweater but wasn’t frozen to the bone. As soon as they hit the sidewalk, Eddie was off.

At 6:42, they were nearly there, Eddie feeling light-headed and freer with every step he took, smiling smugly at the sound of Richie panting far behind him.

“For someone as skinny as you, you’re pretty out of shape,” Eddie called back.

“I’m anorexic, not an Olympic athlete,” Richie gasped, out of breath, “ _Jesus Christ._ I think I blacked out four times on the way here. Slow down, Eds.”

“I’m not even going that fast,” Eddie replied, slowing to a power walk. “You said we could run.”

“I said _you_ could run!” he complained exasperatedly. “You know, I heard it doesn’t even matter how fast you go, it’s how much distance you cover. It burns the same amount of calories—”

“That’s bullshit.”

“I got all dressed up for you and this is my fucking reward. I don’t even know how you’re going so fast, your legs are so _short..._ ”

Eddie saw the lights of the restaurant in the strip mall area up ahead, and heard Richie quietly huff “oh thank God.” It was called _Jade of the Orient;_ it was the first Chinese restaurant that had shown up on Maps when Eddie searched “chinese food.”

He slowed down, his insides curling uncomfortably at the thought of going into a restaurant. Smelling food. Ordering food. Looking at food. Not eating said food.

Richie caught up to him and put a hand on his shoulder, Eddie’s anxieties vanishing momentarily. “You okay?” Richie asked, still (hilariously) out of breath.

Eddie just smiled.

Once they were inside the restaurant, it took Richie a good five minutes to get his breathing back to normal. He started doing a bit with his napkin, Eddie trying not to draw attention to himself by laughing too loudly, when their waitress showed up. Eddie hadn’t even had time to really look at the menu— _shit shit shit what has the lowest amount of calories—_ and he flipped through it hurriedly as Richie ordered.

“I’ll have the number 12 with the rice and the egg roll,” he said, looking up at their waitress and smiling wide.

Soup. Soup was always safe, right?

_It’s not like you’re gonna eat it, anyway._

“Can I have the Tom Tum Kai soup?” Eddie asked, pushing away his menu.

“It comes with the entrée,” the waitress explained.

 _Shit._ “Oh, that’s all I—”

“He’ll have the number 12 too. With the egg roll,” Richie said, pulling away his menu.

“No—” Eddie started.

“Yes.”

“No.”

“He’ll have the number 12, too,” Richie said with finality. Their poor waitress looked incredibly confused. “With the egg roll.”

Eddie just stared at him. _The fucker._

“And to drink?”

“We’ll have two Tsingtao,” Richie said, winking at Eddie so imperceptibly that he wasn’t sure if it was intentional.

“Your ID?”

Richie sighed laboriously, running a hand through his curls. Eddie hadn’t realized he’d just ordered _beer_ for them. Did he know how bloated that stuff made you?

“I…I don’t want to put you on the spot or anything, um—” Richie glanced at the waitress’s nametag, “— _Rose,_ but...we’re from the hospice.”

Eddie stared at him.

“For cancer.”

Eddie looked at the floor.

“Um.” Rose looked between the two of them. “I’m sorry, I can’t serve you without ID.”

“It’s just, um…” Richie took a heaving breath. “This is our first date.”

Eddie’s heart skipped helplessly in his chest.

“Maybe our only date,” he half-blurted, still looking at his lap and unable to see the pleasantly surprised look on Richie’s face. He hoped his suppressed laughter looked like suppressed tears from where Rose was standing.

“I just…” Richie shook his head. “I dunno. Wanted it to be special.”

Rose stood there for a moment, then nodded solemnly before picking up their menus. Richie thanked her quietly and Eddie held his breath until he was sure she was out of earshot.

“Holy shit, Eds, that was amazing _,”_ Richie gushed, trying to stifle his laughter. “ _Maybe our only date._ Fucking unreal.”

“You are so sick,” Eddie laughed, laying his head on the table and trying to laugh as quietly as he could. “We both are, actually.”

“We can pick a different disease for different restaurants,” he offered, grinning widely.

Their food arrived about twenty minutes later, and afterwards Rose came out again and set down two large styrofoam cups in front of them.

“I put it in there so nobody would ask questions.” She smiled at them both, and Eddie felt a sudden twinge of guilt for tricking her.

“Thank you so much,” he said as she left.

“ _Ohhhh yeahhhh_ ,” Richie groaned, grabbing his cup and raising it up to Eddie. “To two sick motherfuckers.”

Eddie raised his cup. “Literally.”

Richie snorted. “Literally, two sick motherfuckers.”

“The sick part, not the motherfucker part.”

“Speak for yourself.”

“Richie—”

“Although, ‘motherfucker’ is a little crude. What your mom and I have is—”

“ _Richie!”_

He grinned and held his hands up, surrendering. They stared at each other, smitten, for a few blissful moments until Richie reached across the table for one of the egg rolls. He held it up and waggled it in the air. Just when Eddie thought he was about to make a dick joke, Richie said:

“Bite.”

Eddie crossed his arms. “I don’t like egg rolls.”

Richie gave him A Look. “Who doesn’t like egg rolls? Chew and spit if you wanna be lame, but you look thinner.”

“If I taste it will you leave me alone?” Eddie asked, more snappily than he intended. _You’re having such a good time. Don’t ruin this._

“First, that’s what she said. And second, if you taste _everything,_ I will leave you alone.”

Eddie took the egg roll from him and reluctantly took a large bite of it. He would have looked Richie in the eye as he did so, just to spite him, but the image was too...suggestive. It didn’t help that all the while, Richie was making obscene sex noises at him.

As he chewed, his mouth tingled and watered. It was that heavenly feeling of tasting something for the first time all day. His eyes practically rolled back in his head.

“ _Yeah_. Mm. That’s right.”

“ _Mmmm."_

“Right?” Richie leaned forward in his seat. “It’s good, right?”

“Uh-huh. Mm.” Eddie surreptitiously reached for his napkin.

“Swallow that egg roll.”

Eddie make a revolting _blegh_ sound as he opened his mouth and made a huge show of spitting out the chewed-up egg roll. He looked at Richie with a proud smile.

“Uh.” Richie made a face at Eddie before chuckling at him. “Jesus Christ. That was...super hot.”

Eddie blushed, trying to stay cool. “Yep. That’s what I was going for.”

Eddie went through all the food and tried all of it, spitting out all of it into a napkin the same as he’d done the egg roll. He did this the whole meal, chewing and spitting (but allowing himself sips of the beer every so often) his way through all of his food.

“So, I find out I can pull the patient ID thing all the way up my arm and hide it underneath my T-shirt,” Eddie took a huge bite of food, “and I just get out past the nurse’s station, I just walk out.”

“Where were you even going?”

Eddie shrugged. “The beach?” he laughed, “I don’t even know.” He spit his food into his napkin.

“But there I am, just jogging down Hemlock Boulevard,” bite, “I’m a full-on crazy person, and I’m jogging at the light...and my mom drives up. She was on the way to the hospital.” Eddie barely got the last word out of his mouth all the way before he started laughing, spitting a little bit of food as he did.

“Oh my God,” Richie cackled, and as Eddie spit into his napkin, Rose came back to the table.

“You don’t like it?”

There was an awkward silence as Eddie desperately tried to stop laughing, but he couldn’t. He shook his head behind his napkin.

“No, I do. It’s just, um—”

“He just gets a little nauseous because of, um…” Richie took a breath, now composed, “...the chemo.”

Rose nodded understandingly.

“But it tastes really good,” Eddie chimed in. “The beer really helps.”

Rose smiled. “I’ll get you another one,” she winked, “no charge.”

“Thank you very much,” Richie said as she walked away.

“Oh my _God,”_ Eddie said, shaking his head, “we’re going to hell.”

Richie nodded seriously. “Yeah.”

He said it with such finality that they burst into another fit of uncontrollable laughter all over again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank you to those of you who stuck around despite my horrendously long and unannounced hiatus. your sweet comments and messages during my time off have meant the absolute world to me!!!!!!! hopefully i'll be back more regularly now that i'm back on my writing game. yours truly, passionately, desperately, ursula xxxxxxxxxx


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